Loretta Landon was starting a new life, determined to prove herself as an independent woman. Having moved to a small holding in Morocco and integrating herself into the local community, she had finally started to feel happy again since escaping the misery of what she now laughingly referred to as her relationship with the ruthless Piers Wright. But her happiness looked to be short lived as rumours started to circulate that a resident property magnate had big plans for the charming little village where she had settled. Even worse, he was rumoured to be arrogant, with movie star good looks, owned a private yacht and had millions in the bank. But Loretta certainly wasn’t interested in all that and had set up a grass roots campaign to halt his selfish ideas, gaining support from local residents and making a name for herself as a trouble maker where desirable property developers were concerned.
Casablanca was probably not the best place in the world to fall foul of one of the leading local citizens, but that was exactly what Loretta had done. She had already crossed swords with the formidable Rashid al Harem without having even met him, but as he was proposing to turn an entire local community out of their village home to put up a luxury hotel and she was determined to stop him. During a rowdy protest meeting on the small plot of earth which passed for Loretta’s back garden, as she was leading the crowd in a rousing chorus of “We Shall Overcome”, she turned to see the figure of a man hoisting himself astride her garden wall, his curses mingling with the loud jeers of the protesting locals.
“What the hell are you playing at?” he snarled at her as he approached. “Have you lost your reason woman?”
How rude. The calm introduction she had been about to make died on her lips. She stared into a pair of eyes so green they were dazzling – which wasn’t helpful in the circumstances – and stopped her dead in her tracks. “This is my property” she said coldly.
“Not for much longer” he retorted. “My local building permit will be approved in 2 weeks and your precious holiday home will be my property and my site for my Venice Carnival themed 7* aspirational brand resort hotel. So you can gather up all your pathetic little leaflets and start packing. Plus your flimsy printed manifestos are drifting over the wall and floating in my swimming pool and all over the grounds”
“Good! Maybe you’ll read one and get the message” she glared at him, her eyes narrowed.
“Your mother ought to have warned you about being so friendly”, he mocked, “a man could get the wrong impression”.
“I hardly think there’s any danger of that with you” she responded coolly but met his green gaze again, and the impact was like a small electric shock. She swallowed hard, willing her voice not to falter. “This won’t be the last you see of me”.
“I have to admit that’s probably the only thing we agree on” His deep voice was unforgivingly humiliating. As he disappeared back into his own grounds, Loretta stared at the spot where he’d been, her cheeks burning, and not wholly because of the heat from the sultry afternoon. What a horrid individual and how dare he growl at her like that? But she couldn’t shake the image of his piercing green eyes, set in a tanned face that was more rugged than handsome and topped by black hair that reached the top of the collar of his open necked shirt. He hardly looked like an Arab at all, more agreeably Mediterranean and with an accent that suggested an expensive education at an international school.
Yet his mockery was galling, her reputation with the local villagers stood to be irreparably damaged after that ridiculous angry stand off while she had been doing so well at championing their rights. Well this would not be the last of it and Loretta took his words of warning as an invitation to thwart his development plans by the end of that night.
She planned to pay him a surprise visit on his yacht The Bow Movement. Later that evening, summoning up all her confidence, Loretta marched along his private jetty to confront him head on and save her beloved village once and for all. Eyes flashing with anger, she now felt stupid for bringing a peace offering as she stood on the deck, clutching a cake tin. Despite her rage, she felt….nervous? Shy? Could it be that she had feelings for him, feelings of longing and desire? Her jaw tightened and she stepped decisively onto the yacht, her legs trembling as she fought for control. She was not attracted to Rashid al Harem. “ I am not!” she intoned weakly to herself, “no way, no how”. She had no intention of getting involved with a man for a long, long time – if ever – and certainly not someone like Rashid. She had fallen for a charming, honey tongued monster before and look where that had got her. Only last year, Piers Wright had fooled her completely and she’d trusted him, tumbling head over heels in passion into a loveless marriage in only 2 weeks. The memory of their final fateful night was still vivid – at least up to about 7.30 pm after yet another barrage of criticism about her cooking and he’d sent his dinner plate spinning to the floor with a flick of his hand. Such a small thing to signify the end of a marriage – potatoes that were slightly too hard in the centre – but she had snapped and could no longer take his bullying control. After that, it was all a blur…running out of the house, getting in her car, forgetting to change into her sensible driving moccasins, getting her kitten heel stuck under the brake pedal. The car crash had wiped her memory clean after that and she hardly knew how she’d ended up living in Casablanca or what had happened to the £20,000 in her building society account…
Peeking through a port hole, Loretta caught a glimpse of the yacht’s interior. Light and airy decorated with impeccable taste in shades of beige and cream with leather upholstery and subtle gold accents complimenting the black satin sheets of a king size bed. A sunken marble Jacuzzi dominated the main space, its crystal swan shaped taps surrounded by a profusion of fluffy white towels. Rashid al Harem slid back the door but instead of another angry stand off, he handed her a glass of champagne and intoned coolly “why don’t you come inside and we can talk about this like adults.” Enigmatically male, virile, strong and gentle at the same time - he was dangerously attractive.
So Rashid al Harem had turned the tables on her – by tricking her into meeting him alone that night, and here she was entirely on her own, virtually a prisoner on his yacht and completely in his power. Where would her ideals get her now? What’s more, he had a murky past with some property deals that had turned nasty and some said there was a price on his head. Loretta knew for a fact he kept a gun on his yacht for protection – so he was armed and devastating!
But little did Loretta know about Rashid’s thoughts since their first meeting. That young woman who had glared at him with such hostility was very young and attractive, Rashid mused, and clearly had a mind of her own. Who was Loretta Landon, he pondered, and why didn’t she like men? Or was it just him? The thought caused his firm sensual mouth to tighten. This was crazy, it didn’t matter who she was or what had bought her to Casablanca. He had no time for socialising with the locals. It was his chrome and glass London penthouse apartment where he conducted his out of hours business affairs, other affairs to come to that. So why had he put the Dom Perignon on ice that evening? Something told him she’d pay him a visit and he couldn’t help admiring her skin – the colour of honey peppered with spice and her red hair, a combination of endless shades, smelling sweetly of Pantenne – he had to resist the urge to stroke it. Pull yourself together he warned himself. This was hardly the reaction of a 35 year old man who had shared his bed and his life with countless women in his time. Experience told him Loretta was not the sort of girl who was looking for a bit of no strings fun. He must regain composure.
Hell, what a situation to be in. If anyone had told him he’d be lusting after a woman who wasn’t remotely interested in him, he’d have told them they were crazy.
Once his body was under control again, he reached for Loretta’s cake tin and opened it to reveal one of her unsurpassable moist Battenburgs. “Fancy a slice?” he asked
“It’s second to none” she said bashfully but with a hint of flirtatiousness. What on earth was coming over her? “I can guarantee you won’t taste cake like this again.”
“You’ve convinced me”
She smiled in such a friendly smile it made him feel a swine for his lecherous thoughts. He cut them both a generous portion and joined her on the chaise long. “It is fabulous” he said after his first bite. She smiled, wiping a crumb of the Battenburg from the corner of her lips and as his gaze followed the action his body responded sharply, causing him to gasp. She giggled, blushing slightly and as he looked at her parted lips he wanted to kiss her so hard it hurt. As he raised his eyes to hers they were smiling into his and for several seconds, seconds that quivered with intimacy, their gaze held. When her eyes dropped to her plate and she ate a morsel of cake with uncharacteristic clumsiness, dropping half of it onto the beige leather upholstery, he knew he had been right. Loretta Landon was no more indifferent to him than he was to her. “You’re jumpy as a kitten, he murmured. A little kitten that doesn’t know whether to bite or purr”. Whichever man had hurt her so badly in the past Rashid al Harem was determined to show her just how a lady should be treated.
Unable to stand the tension any longer, he swept Loretta into his arms as they strained in an agony of need and murmering incoherent words of love until Loretta pulled away sharply. “Wait!” She cried “How can I be sure that you don’t just want my body and to keep your luxury hospitality development?” Yet her mind was racked with contradiction and she was feeling deliciously like a wanton hussy. Her chaste beauty had unlocked a powerful need in her body that only Rashid al Harem could sate.
“I love you” he whispered, “can you forgive me for taking advantage of you?”
And after that moment, they were inseparable. Over a candlelit dinner the next evening, Rashid took Loretta’s dainty hand in his and asked as his hard rugged features melted into a smile that was beautiful “ Will you be my wife to have and to hold for ever?”
They were married a week later on Christmas eve at the little parish church in her childhood village home. How on earth Rashid managed to arrange everything so quickly, Loretta didn’t know. All that paperwork and legal stuff not to mention persuading the vicar to fit in a service between 3 carol concerts and a couple of rather unfortunate funerals. She suspected a hefty donation towards the church roof fund may have had something to do with it. Certainly the vicar seemed very jolly, though he did whiff rather of stale whisky. After the Fairy tale wedding, complete with Loretta’s dream mermaid style dress in turquoise satin and sequins, they made a new home on the plot destined for Rashid al Harem’s luxury hotel. He had so much love to give – it turned out he’d had rather a deprived childhood, and the womanising was just an act and a cover for his true gentlemanly nature.
But there was just one complication – Loretta was pregnant…with twins!
As her memory slowly returned after the car crash amnesia she realised, she might have made a baby that time she shared a shisha with Omar who owned the village kebabish. He had said he didn’t want to use precautions, but with his strong accent she had thought he meant pea cushions, referring to the bright green furnishings that were digging into her back as she lay upon his ottoman. Anyway she didn’t think she could get pregnant after years of wearing tummy control pants. She had been feeling a little out of sorts and would usually made an appointment with the local GP, Dr Manliman, so dashing and handsome, but she was devastated to hear he’d eloped with nurse Blenkinsop and was too depressed to book a check up with his replacement.
Yet Rashid al Harem accepted her fate like a true gentleman as he longed to be a father and share his enormous new house. Loretta had to admit the new build was quite nice really with its aga, farrow and ball paint and country cottage style set in 5 acres of grounds with tennis courts and plenty of room for a pony each for the twins didn’t – it didn’t look at all out of place in Morocco.
Six months later, Loretta hadn’t planned on a home birth: what with it being twins, her first pregnancy and having recently suffered a major head injury, a hospital confinement was advised. But after a mild spell of backache and a slightly uncomfortable feeling after lunch, Loretta’s 2 beautiful baby girls made an appearance into the world. After cleaning up and taking a brief nap, Loretta awoke to find Rashid holding his daughters in his strong masculine arms whilst gently stroking their soft downy hair. What proud parents they were! she beamed. While not strictly speaking their actual father, theirs would be a proper family and their children loved and cared for and given Calpol when they’d had too many sweeties regardless of whether they were theirs biologically or not. Convinced that she was barren for so long, Loretta had set her sights on adopting – maybe a poor child with scabies rescued from social care or with a minor disability that was actually endearing. But now she had the perfect family which proved that love could move mountains and break down the most carefully constructed barricades around her heart, just like the bulldozers had smashed through the community small holdings and so many of the villagers shacks to build their modest home.
The next morning as man and wife watched the sunrise whilst lying in their marital bed, Loretta again contemplated just how lucky she was. If this wasn’t heaven, it was close enough, Loretta thought as she snuggled against Rashid al Harem’s chest. Thank goodness that against all the odds she had found the one man who could release her from the past and make her life complete. With her body sensuously satisfied, and her mind at peace, she wanted to stay like this for ever.
Thursday, 8 September 2011
Wednesday, 7 September 2011
Mills and Swoon: The philandering playboy and the psychic by She
As she replayed the answerphone message for the ninth time that morning, a small frown puckered the otherwise smooth brow of Bethany Goodgirl. Although she listened to the words spoken in his deep mahogany voice, she still couldn’t fully grasp the situation – what on earth could international playboy Stryker Fitworthy possibly want with her?
The message said that he wanted a private meeting with Bethany but surely he could he could have a reading with any psychic in the world – why would he come to her small psychic boutique, ‘Goodgirl Blessings’ in Love-under-the-wold? It just didn’t make sense.
‘Are you the psychic?’ he husked. Bethany Bethany
Stryker raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. Bethany
‘Something like that.’
As they sat down in the lilac and lace surroundings, Bethany Bethany
‘Did you feel that?’ he said, ‘It’s you, it must be you!’
What did he mean? Did he really think that she had deliberately tried to hurt him? But before she could explain, the familiar bitter voice started in her head and blocked out all her thoughts. Johnny Two-bob-bits, her spirit guide, was chanting in her head. Bethany
‘Are you alright Bethany
‘Don’t be stupid’, hissed Johnny Two-bob-bits, ‘Why would he be concerned about you? You’re nothing to him. He wouldn’t even look twice at a woman like you.’ Of course, thought Bethany
‘I think you had better go Stryker’, said Bethany
He looked as through he might protest. ‘Please’, said Bethany
‘I see. I see how it is’, said Stryker coldly. Did he see, did he truly?
‘I’ll go … for now … but this is far from over’, and as he walked out the door he turned and gave her a knowing look.
‘It’s so strange,’ began Bethany
‘Strange? What’s strange?’ hissed Johnny Two-bob-bits
‘It felt like I had met him before, like we were connected, like we belonged …’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ shrieked Johnny Two-bob-bits, ‘He’s got no interest in your psychic orbs and he has a terrible aura. He’s a known philanderer, why would he ever look at you? He’ll never settle for one woman.’
‘Maybe he’s searching for his one true love’, began Bethany
Throughout that day and long, lonely night Bethany
Early the following morning the crystals chimed again and there he was: Stryker!
Her heart soared …
But he was with a woman!
Her heart crashed …
‘Bethany
But Bethany
When she next awoke she was nestled in Stryker’s embrace.
‘What … what happened?’
‘Magenta Angel-lady performed a banishment! Johnny Two-bob-bits was no spirit guide but a demon intent on keeping us apart. He’s gone now, forever!’
‘We have known each other before Bethany
Stryker continued, ‘In Tudor times I was a squire and you were a buxom serving wench; you were a put-upon nurse with Florence Nightingale and I was a brave injured soldier; I was a fearsome warrior of a Sioux tribe and you were my captured frontiers woman.
Our love has lasted throughout the ages, through all our reincarnations, I have never stopped searching for you Bethany. Or loving you.’
‘Johnny Two-bob-bits was holding you back, keeping you from me, from our love, our passion’ he growled, ‘But now he’s gone, there’s nothing stopping us from being together!’
‘Oh Stryker, you’ve saved me!’ exclaimed Bethany
‘Bethany
‘Yes! I will.’ And as they kissed their auras merged.
Mills and Swoon: The Doctor and the Debutant by Bel la Donna
Natasha Richelieu de Vinci traced the cascading rapids of writhing rain on the west window, her luxurious tumbling locks veiled her face, a single tear salted her alabaster cheek, the letter read and reread fell to the floor; the words too hard to read, too hard to leave.
Her once proud family shamed on evidence she couldn’t contradict but would never allow her broken heart to believe. A flight on wings of a young girls dreams that flew too far away.
They would never understand. He was simply the best, better than all the rest, better than anyone she’d ever met. She’d hung on to every word he said and now, she was torn apart.
“Don’t leave me this way” she cried fervently, but softly, to herself “I can’t survive.” Her broken sobs, broke the silent silence in the silent stately manor.
It was seven hours and fifteen days since she met Roger Mannlimann, MD, BA, RAC, ACC, LCC, MAPhil, CBE, CAB, RA, AB+ve.
A limpid moon shattered the night’s darkness, the cool harbour, a mackerel sky, the twinkling stars sparkled in the supine sea. Enraptured dolphins, seals, whales, porpoises leapt coquetishly while the mysterious manta ray sang aquatic songs of love in Poseidon’s briny sanctuary. The resplendent yacht, the prestigious Marie Theresa Aphrodite, the envy of every Greek tycoon for her sophisticated lines, handsome crew and of course the guests, the World’s elite, wealthy, glamorous, famous: Huey Lewis, David Shilling, Eddie Large, they were all there. Samantha Fox and Mick Fleetwood were hosting - it was a spectacular night.
Natstasia’s vermillion lips sipped her WKD, her melliferous mahogany eyes darting across the dancefloor, catching all the suave attention, her tantalizing lashes, dipped and raised like the feathers of a startled thrush. If Heaven is a place on Earth then this must surely be it, which means that love comes first...
“Hello, is it me you are looking for?” The stranger said, his bass voice resonated like Baileys Mint over granite ashtray.
Natalia gasped gently yet politely and put down her drink, her mother-of-pearl fingers flexed over the slender neck of the crimson bottle. Her sienna eyes dipped to his russet brogues, her ardent gaze moving slowly, seductively, observing, a noble ankle, bulging calves, tense thighs, and, the orchestra swelled as a trombone coaxed a feverish note in an enchanted evening.
Rivets, yes there were definitely the finest, shiniest rivets she’d ever seen on a pair of jeans, his masculine hips, six pack hinted though the fitted Jonelle shirt, George tie and collar loosened, her voluptuous raspberry lips moistened as she raised her ocular exploration to his leonine face and his piercing azure eyes, like a summer sky that drew her into his gaze through eternity and she felt herself falling...
“Is this love, tor am I dreaming? “ she thought breathlessly, “Is this the love that I’ve been searching for?” Would she ever feel him hold her close sharing her eternal flame, whispering “I catch your grenade, throw head on a plate, I’d jump in front of a train for ay”
“Till now” she thought “I always got by on my own, I never really cared until I met you and now it chills me to the bone, how do I get you alone?”. Now she understood that love is a banquet on which we feed, because the night belongs to lovers...
Was it the chiaroscuro, was it the chirizo, was the chihuahua?
Her tactile senses reverberated to the vaporous music, and as the french horn tremolo-ed she longed for his sinuous arms to tenderly stroke her lusterous mane and his grave chin, three-enhanced blade shaved yet hydrated to tingle her cheek as he nuzzled her ear, his light yet firm and masculine touch squeezing her lobe.
His quizzical eyes searched her calamine face for an answer his ruffled flaxen hair loosely falling over his aquiline nose. Natalie nodded alluringly “Don’t wish too hard because it may come true...”
“I’m Doctor Mannlimann. I understand there’s an emergency. You are Miss Miller arn’t you... your drink is foaming”
As duty called away his taut frame, his Lynx Dark Temptation body spray lingered in the air and in her pulsing rubescent heart. The melancholy Flugelhorn mourned the night with a final melody echoing the soulful song of the sonorous Manta Ray and Natasha was left alone.
Every rose has its thorn, and as the memories of the night they met lingered Natalina let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday, like tears of a clown falling falling on his letter that expressed everything he had ever felt in those three fateful words... “Stop stalking me”.
Mills and Swoon: Roses Are Red – or ‘A Blossoming Romance’ by Clappers
Sally Rains sipped the last of her herb infused breakfast lemon-lifter tea, and stared in to space – seated in the one good armchair, the only stick of furniture she’d managed to salvage from the wreck of her former existence, she sighed heavily as she removed the breakfast tray from her lap, wiped away the crumbs of her low-fat croissant (where had she managed to buy that?), and moved towards the hanger where her uniform hung, always neatly pressed and always ready by Saturday morning, to start yet another week. It was the last of her herb infused tea bags she realised, the last from the box she’d bought with her - there would be no more now … was it another sign? Another break from her past?
She was pondering yet again – how she’d ended up in Knucklethwaite. Had it really been only a month? Was it even right she was here? ‘Their’ bistro in on the high street in Guildford suddenly flickered into view, the candles, the guinea-fowl, the now empty words - but she managed to wipe away the memory quick as a flash fried calves-liver – and the dregs of a pricey Pinot - as she carefully rinsed her cup….and her thoughts turned to the day ahead….
Yes, Knucklethwaite, Northumberland – as FAR away from Guildford as one could imagine. It was – she suddenly reminded herself, her choice, well as far as she’d ‘had’ a choice of course, Brian had seen to that – all she knew was that she had needed to get as far away from Guildford as she possibly could – but when she had closed her eyes , three months ago now, and stuck a pin in her AA Road map, hoping for it to land somewhere far outside the M25, she never realised she’d be THIS far away – that’ll teach her for having the map upside down she thought! Or the fact the page was folded over, thanks to Brian’s stag do weekend in somewhere called Gateshead. Whatever – it was fate either way. And the distance at least had been a blessing, she knew it wasn’t logical, and yet, it almost felt that with every mile, the pain and hurt, and ones sense of futility, seemed to weaken, subside – something she wouldn’t have had if the pin had landed on Slough say….
Just as she was tying up her lurid green polyester tabard over her emblazoned sweat-shirt affair – she heard a gentle knock at the door, and a joyous whistling of a jaunty tune – what was it? ‘Greensleeves’…..’Tie A Yellow Ribbon’? She couldn’t be sure – but what she WAS sure of – was that the sound belonged to Steve, the postman. Strange she thought – that she actually KNEW the name of her postman! In fact she ever SAW the postman. Every one seemed to know everyone’s name around here – that would NEVER have happened in Guildford – people had to endure their pain behind their Laura Ashley curtains, just a nameless face, a neighbour one nodded to from time to time, with perhaps the odd comment about the state of the roads, or that ‘dark looking’ people had moved in to a cul-de-sac – just a few miles away….
‘Hello Steve’ she said chirpily as she opened the door to him. And as he stopped whistling (maybe it was the theme to ‘Desert Island Discs?’ – no THAT was Radio 4 – did they have that up here?) She appraised him properly for the first time – at least five feet eight tall she calculated, muscular and yet not overtly so, apart from anything else, there were certainly no gym-come-health spas in the area that she knew of – all natural, country muscle this was - Monday morning stubble, a small scar on his left cheek (a pub fight perhaps?) a rounded face, ruddy, and slightly perspiring from his ride up the lane to her, and of course his regulation red post office shorts, and panniered blue Raleigh bicycle, one that had seen better days she thought, although she wasn’t sure why she cared about that?
‘Roses are Red, Violets are Blue’…
‘Whay aye lass – good day te yer’ he offered ‘Why I’ve a parcel that big fo ya – it took a fair amooont o’ cycling to get it te tha tha day– I can tell thee’
She hadn’t a CLUE what he’d just said – although there WAS a clue in the brown paper package he proffered her, and as he removed the pen from behind his rather enlarged left ear (a boxing match? A cock-fight?) and gestured for her to sign.
‘Oh god’ why am I so middle class she thought to herself as he smiled warmly at her – ‘I really must start making an effort to understand these people more’ – And she THEN wondered why that thought had even entered her head! How very strange. Last week on his late delivery he had offered her something called ‘bap’ – and she had politely refused it as if it was a strange offering from an Amazonian tribe…Perhaps she should have invited him in for an elderberry infusion, she’d still had some left at that point - rather than leave him on the doorstep? But WHY did she think that? And indeed would he have known what one was?
It was the same at Smithsons Garden Centre where she’d secured herself a part time job – Ok – it wasn’t quite the PR job she’d had at the multinational in Burpham – but it did of course offer freedom from Brian, and the pain – and she’d always been good with her hanging baskets and growing her own indoor herbs – but yes it had to be said – at the garden centre, she also found it extremely difficult to understand a word anyone said to her – if they didn’t at least point to the bird bath they required, or physically handed her the tray of border plants, she really had no idea what they wished to purchase, and then there was that nasty incident last week with the yucca – it really was too much sometimes, but – BUT – she remembered quickly, at least it wasn’t Brian, and at least it wasn’t Guilford….received pronunciation or not.
‘Roses are Red – Violets are Blue’
She smiled back at Steve, longer than necessary she thought – was it her embarrassment? – or something else? Signed for the parcel, and swiftly closed the door. Another parcel from Brian, probably yet another ‘remnant’ from their life together he’d thought necessary to send to her – probably one of her mothers ornaments – which he’d ALWAYS hated – another nail in the coffin, another stab in the back using a Cape di Monte figurine – she wondered for a moment how the flat looked now? Batchelor pad no doubt, with the vulgar photo of the red Ferrari out of storage and back on the bedroom wall – Ugh! She shuddered…and set off for work.
An hour in to her Monday morning, surrounded by bags of compost and the smell of fish food – she was approached by Mr Gregson, the owner of Smithsons, whilst pricing up the green-fly sprays – she could never quite tell just how old Mr Gregson was, with his salt and pepper hair, clipped extremely short, and his large bushy moustache, like a Victorian butchers, and what seemed an inexhaustible supply of finely made sturdy black boots, a different pair every day. Although he owned one of the largest garden centres in ‘up north’, she noticed his finger nails were always finely manicured, his appearance smart, slightly fussy even, with a fine line in taupe or lilac shirts and ruby red ties…
‘Roses are Red – Violets are blue’….
She liked Mr Gregson, which helped. He was kindly, and seemed to be sympathetic - Although maybe it was because he was originally from just outside Northampton, and she could therefore just about understand him…..Anyway – today he was wearing a light aubergine linen blazer over a pale cream shirt, and neatly pressed slacks, and no tie, due probably to the already oppressive heat of the day – but for once it WASN’T this she found herself noticing….oh no not this at all….
‘Good morning my dear’ he said, as Sally was just finished with the sprays and was now potting a polystyrene box with pond ferns – ‘stop a moment – whilst I introduce you to our NEW Assistant Manager – Jan – say hello to Sally Jan’…..
It was as she put down the ferns and stretched up to full height, that Jan came in to view…..Was it the rising heat? Was it the smell of slug pellets, and pond cleaner – overpowering now in the strengthening sun? Whatever it was – Sally suddenly felt weak, weakened at the very nearness of the Adonis she saw before her…she felt her whole body quiver from top to bottom, a sudden hunger, a gnawing need in the pit of her stomach (surely it was because her crisp-breads were yet an hour away?) But NO = it was him – Jan! Beautiful Jan - that had – in all his physical beauty and radiance – his manly god-like glory, sent her body into such paroxysm.
He stood there, tall as a house, blonde curled hair glimmering in the summer sun, a trickle of manly sweat running down his left temple, the brightest blue eyes, like shining amethysts set in the face of something from a Greek myth, arms as long and as wide as the tree-trunks made into the array of fencing that surrounded the garden centre (oh for those majestic seconds – how she dreamt – DREAMT they could envelop her! Hold her close, take her away, do ANYTHING to her!....For at that moment – NOTHING else mattered, her life here, her past in Guildford, NOTHING – only to have him – to be HIS! Oh heavenly heavenly Jan!’ It was like a bolt from the blue!
‘Roses are Red – Violets are Blue’
She tried to steady herself as she offered her hand for him to take – although she couldn’t stop herself from trembling as her fingers touched his – and a lightning bolt of ecstasy shot through her…..as if her body was a lightning rod, and he the flash of electricity from heaven.
She tried to focus again quickly as Mr Gregson said - ‘Jan’s from Rotterdam – come over to help us turn the corner with our greenhouse tomatoes – you know we’ve been struggling with them – and the Dutch are experts in the field as t’were’. Jan’s been helping me out no end – haven’t you Jan’
But she didn’t hear him….
‘Allo’ smiled Jan – ‘very nice to meet you’….and as his grip on her hand grew firmer and she looked in to his beautiful beautiful eyes, now glimmering more than ever in the sunlight – it was at this moment she felt herself literally falling, falling to the ground as everything else but Jan blackened around her, her ecstasy, her longing stronger and stronger than anything she’d felt before - as then everything fell dark….
When she came round – she was propped up against a bag of wood-chip next to the main office, with Eileen who ran the small garden centre tea-shop gently mopping her face – She’d always thought Eileen a little common, perhaps it was the fact she smoked? Or sold flap-jacks? Whatever – she was glad at this moment of the attention, even though she could smell Capstan full strength and a hint of golden syrup on Eileen’s breath as she came to…
‘Roses are Red – Violets are Blue’ she whispered to herself…
‘What was that lass? Said Eileen ‘Why lass – I toooold ye, ye should eat more for ya dinnah than them bits o’ budgie seed and in this heat an aaall’ she said, although of course Sally didn’t understand her, she didn’t understand ANYTHING any more….What had just happened?
Then she remembered – and as she did so, the feeling crept up on her again – especially as now Mr Gregson and Jan – were standing just behind Eileen, both with concerned looks on their faces….
‘Jan is going to take you STRAIGHT home’ said Mr Gregson – the engines running on the delivery van right now – and it’ll be nice for you two to get to know each other anyway en route as t’were – even under THESE circumstances!’
‘Th-thank you Mr Gregson’ Sally stammered – and then – realising what he had just said, felt her strength strangely returning, as she managed to get to her feet…
‘I’m terribly sorry – I – I don’t know what it was’ she lied – maybe the heat?’ But even as she was offering up these excuses – she could think of one thing and one thing only – she was to be ALONE, alone with Jan….
In the van on the way home, they made small talk – he talking about the best way to combat early blight on Italian plum varieties, she bumbling something about the difficulty in obtaining Vaseline…but as they did so – her mind raced with the giddy excitement over the fact they were heading right for her door! She knew it wouldn’t be long….and she knew she would be his. Oh – she knew – KNEW it was school-girl fantasy, knew it wrong, she had only known him – what? An hour? Two? She couldn’t tell – time meant nothing anymore anyway – she knew all of these things of course, but for the first time ever – she knew it was right to feel this way – to HELL with Brian and his long term pension plans, his model cars, his braying City friends, the joyless drunken sex, and the ready meals eaten on the Playstation – whilst she sat gulping back the white in the kitchen, alone, deserted, like a Chardonnay mum, except WITHOUT the children – dreaming of a man who could give her so much - SO MUCH MORE - with every sip from the bottle – as she stared, blurry eyed and helpless, at the unused Aga - And now – NOW she had found him….the journey had ALL been worth it. This was her new life at last.
They pulled up to her small rented terrace and she plotted her move – giddy as a school-girl or not – she was trying to stay calm underneath – thinking wildly of the pay off that would ensue….
‘Nice mix of begonias’ he said – gesturing to her hanging basket as he pulled on the hand brake. She smiled weakly and asked him if he wouldn’t mind opening the passenger door. She was – she said ‘still quite weak’.
As his manly hands did so, and his trunk like arms helped her from the sweating car seat – she leant on him for support, more than was actually necessary - as he walked her to the front door and she fumbled for her Yale…all the time her heart racing with the excitement of it all….she hadn’t felt like this in years. Years….
‘Thank you Jan’ she said – as he finally sat her down in the armchair ‘can I get you a drink’ to say thank you for taking me home? ‘It’s the least I can do’…and she quickly wondered if she had anything stronger than Dandelion & Burdock in the house? Milk? The Dutch drank a lot of that didn’t they? She knew nothing anymore…..
‘No – no really it’s fine’ he said – ‘I really must get back to Bobby – er – Mr Gregson - but you really should get yourself to bed perhaps?’
The very word – and the fact HE had said it – and in that ACCENT! Sent another quiver of longing through her stricken body – she felt herself heave her bosom as she ventured – ‘yes – yes you’re right – do you think you could help me? It’s only at the top of the stairs’
With a passion she could barely control – she found him agreeing to her request – it was only a matter of minutes and they would be there….alone. Rapt in passion. Laughing at the world.
He stood at the end of her bed whilst she gingerly tried to remove her tabard, pulling awkwardly at the shoulder straps – ‘would you mind’? She asked meekly – Oh god – had she used fabric conditioner last time? She didn’t remember – she didn’t care….what they were planning meant the bed sheets could wait – wait forever!
He moved towards her and tried to untie the cotton ties with his huge hands. Like the spades in the garden centre she thought – and as he did so she KNEW she had to act – that THIS was the moment! – with a flash of her arm, she grabbed him as he towered over her – and pulled him closer to her – close enough now – that their eyes met within an inch, and she felt herself pulling his lips to hers as she cried ‘yes Jan – YESSSSS – you know it must be!’ as he rolled on top of her. The agony, the ecstasy was almost too much as they writhed together on the bed, she held him so tight to her lips – feeling his passion, and her tabard fall free – that it wasn’t until what seemed like an eternity that she realised his groans were not of ecstasy – but of a kind of fear….
‘No – NOOOOOOOO’ he shouted as he pulled her quaking body away from his ‘No – this is NOT meant to happen’
She fell back on the bed – slightly shocked, but still undaunted - and looked at him, with some pity in her voice, and smiling a coy smile, she said ‘Oh Jan – my darling Jan - don’t worry – I know it seems so soon, but I could see it in your eyes you wanted this as much as I’ – I’m sorry my darling – you may think it is not to be yet – but I promise – we can take it as quickly or as slowly as you like – I’m in no hurry! You KNOW I’m yours’.
He collected himself, and putting his hands to his head in shock said - ‘No – it is not meant to be – because I – I am Mr Gregson’s boyfriend! He met me in a, well a ‘specialist’ bar in Amsterdam – and bought me over to live with him, and to run the Garden Centre’…We are together now…..’I call him Daddy for Christ’s sake…Godverdomme vrouw’ And with that she heard him stomp down the stairs, slam the door behind him, and start the van.
An hour later – it could have been more – she did not know. Sally had finally stopped crying. Her salty tears had all but soddened the pillow – without knowing it she had appeared to have drunk over half a bottle of Riesling (where had she BOUGHT that? Not here surely?) – but she couldn’t remember how…..or why – or – she just didn’t WANT to remember anything anymore – and trying to block out all that had happened that afternoon - she then fell into a dark deep tear induced sleep.
She awoke, still in her work clothes to the sound of a song, what was that? Ah yes she recognised it as ’Baby Give It Up’, and for a second she’d imagined she’d come round in the seating area at ‘Zacchary’s’ – the wine bar she used to go to with her few Guildford work colleagues, to escape going home to Brian as their relationship had entered it’s death-throes. Perhaps it was the smell of warm white wine, or the fact she’d been crying – but no – there she was – on her bed, in the north, in a garden centre uniform, the sun streaming through her little Velux window – and of course what she could hear was Steve – whistling one of his favourite tunes as usual.
‘Oh God’ she thought as she staggered to her feet, kicking over the now finished bottle of wine…..’another nail in the coffin from Brian’….How was she going to face today? How? What indeed – had happened?
She steadied herself. Mopped back her bedraggled hair – and tying back her tabard strap – opened the front door with as much ‘face the day’ courage as she could muster….’Good morning Steve’ she tried as cheerily as she could ‘How are you?’
‘Well – aaaahm fine and dandy this mornen lass – and hoo aboot ye?’ ‘Aaaahm afraid its anutha parcel fo yer the day’ ..
She looked down at yet another package and sighed, waiting for him to pass her the pen, and the ritual, or rather ritual humiliation by post would start all over again. But strangely – this didn’t happen…She looked up at him, slightly flustered by this, as gestures, not words were all she understood with Steve – it threw her slightly – it was then – and only then – she realised – that as Steve took a long lingering look in to her face – that the ONE gesture that she hadn’t noticed in all of this time – was the look of pure unadulterated love that shone from his broad, beaming face….’my god’ she exclaimed – it WAS you all along! It was really YOU that I wanted, YOU that I needed? And as he moved towards her, and she at last succumbed to his warm embrace, she knew that those moments of trepidation on the doorstep, the small thoughts that she had about him and how he lived his life, the way she had suddenly noticed his physical appearance – this was of course the moment when her past met her future through the signing for a parcel, the small gestures of a postman – a POSTMAN she could barely understand! And at last – it all made sense to her.
‘Roses are Red – Violets are BLUE’! She cried…..
He dropped his shiny red bag of bills and circulars, ripped off his regulation blue PO shirt, untied the tabard strings she had only just re-knotted – and threw her into her only armchair – it made sense they were to make sweet mad love on the one thing she had managed to bring with her from her past - she gasped as he ripped at her tabard like a dolls dress, took of his cap, held her like she had never been held before – and – like a limp rag doll, let real, enduring, uncomplicated love pulsate through her yielding body…the love that only HE could give her.
‘Whay aye lass – aaahve been weeetin’ fa this mor-ment since I fest clapped eyes on ye’ – he said.
She didn’t understand him – but it didn’t matter – it didn’t matter at all….. she understood enough, she understood that THIS was now her future, she had known it all along really – and Guildford – well – Guildford was a LONG LONG way away……
Roses ARE red – Violets ARE blue – she sighed as he ravished her. And the smash of the contents of a brown paper package could be heard as it fell to the hard floor, along with the sound of a thousand bad memories and with it the promise of a brand new future – a future of love.
Mills and Swoon: Argentine Awakening by Revi
Kaiane woke up on Valentine’s Day morning to the sound of Whitney Houston’s ‘I will always love you’ on Heart FM, it made her heart sink; it reminded her of brighter, happier, times. She did love that film, but she hated Valentine’s Day, all those awful smug couples everywhere. She looked over to the empty side of the bed and sighed, her sadness took over and she threw her pillow at the alarm clock radio, successfully silencing Whitney, but knocking over a glass of water all over her boss’s report on the proposed filing system overhaul. ‘Oh great’, she thought, ‘I was up until 3am finishing that! Charlie is going to kill me!’
After hurriedly mopping the report dry, she headed for the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Even at this time in the morning, with pillow marks all down one side of her face, she looked captivating. Her large green almond shaped eyes sparkled in the mirror and although she didn’t care much for make up, her cheeks were rosy and her lips were full and crimson. Her skin though pale complimented her long red hair which fell in large curls to just above her nipples. Her Natalie Cassidy fitness DVD had helped her maintain her perfect hourglass figure too, a figure that had caused her to grab the attention of many men round her estate. She had actually once won ‘Best in Show’ in her local working men’s club’s beauty contest round in the pub quiz, where Dazza, the compare and landlord, had described her as a ‘fine English rose’ and complimented her on having ‘the best tits this side of Reading’ – causing all the men to cheer loudly, and Kaiane to feel wanted for the first time. It still made her blush five years on as she felt proud of her achievement, and it was the £10 prize that had motivated her to start saving up for her South American adventure.
The memories of that trip still aroused her to this day ‘Get a grip Kaiane’, she thought as she got into the shower, but the running water reminded her of the rains she’d experienced during that year and she drifted into a nostalgic haze... That year away was simply the best year of her life, it was the first time since being cheered at in the working men’s club that she had felt liberated, lusted after and free – she had felt true passion for the first time in her life and had never wanted it to end. But end it did and all she could think about since then was Alejandro Sanchez Lopez. It all still made her shudder in lust every time – and she fantasised about what she would say to him if she saw him again, the scoundrel.
Furious with herself for still being under his passionate pull, she started to get dressed for work. She knew she was already running late for the slide reader user training session - she’d been looking forward to that training for weeks! But somehow she was transported back to the first time she had laid eyes on his wild, untamed masculinity. She had met Alejandro on the planes of La Pampa when the minivan she was travelling to Buenos Aires in with a group of pensioners on their Club 80-90s holiday broke down just outside an old cattle ranch. The breakdown had caused the air conditioning to stop working, and, always thinking on her feet, Kiaine quickly realised that very old people and 40 degree heat would not be a good combo – they stank enough as it was! ‘Sod this, I’m outta here’ she thought and elegantly stepped off the minivan, leaving them with Pepe, the friendly Peruvian driver and headed towards the ranch with an empowered strut.
Halfway down the road she wished that she’d changed as the leopard-print minidress and patent leather knee high boots she was wearing were hardly the appropriate attire for the Argentinean dirt track, but she had planned to head straight out to catch happy hour at ‘Chico’s Chang House’ as soon as they got to Buenos Aires. Just at that moment, a pickup truck full of farmers skidded past her and the noise from their jeers and wolf whistles caused her to lose her balance and fall, face first, into the hedge at the side of the road. ‘Oh my..’ she sighed, ‘not again’ she tried to climb out of the bush, but her heel had got stuck in the sandy path. She could not move. Suddenly, she felt a sharp prod on her right buttock, shocked and frightened she swept round causing her thick cherry curls to fall over her eyes. She could just make out a silhouette, but she could make out a long mane of hair, thick powerful legs and a stench of manure...brushing her hair away from her eyes, she quivered with fear as a large black stallion was standing dangerously over her ready to mount her! A loud whistle caused the horse to move obediently away and in its place was to reveal yet another powerful stallion. ’Hola muchacha’ he said as he threw down the cattle prod that he had used to singe her right buttock. His topless physique was shimmering with sweat and it reminded her of the time she’d gone to see the Dreamboys at Oceana with her mother that time.
The scorching hot sun and shock of the fall had made her feel all dizzy, but she could make out his thick arms, chiselled jaw and long dark hair. He was laughing and pointing at her, which made her feel humiliated as she lay in the hedge. She did notice his smile as he laughed though and she thought he had great teeth for a farmer. Suddenly, he pulled her out of the hedge with one arm and pressed her towards his sweat sodden, thick chest. ‘Stop it – put me down you brut!’ she squealed and used her angry feminine fists to hit him, but there was no point, he was too powerful and she too weak. She quivered, looked up and just as she about to plead him to let her go, she was captivated by his deep brown eyes and heady from his overpowering body odour. It left her spellbound. He stared at her so intensely that she suddenly wanted him all over her – ‘How could he have tamed my anger?’ she thought - just 2 minutes after she was trying to run from him, she was wishing he’d never let her go. ‘Thanks – you saved my life and defended my honour, I was stuck in that bush and my heel was lodged proper - the cattle prod was a bit much, but you saved me!’ she said, still captivated by his tempestuous gaze ‘how could I ever repay you?’, but he looked slightly confused, of course she sighed, he obviously didn’t speak English. He did understand the language of love though as before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her with a passion so engorged that she almost passed out right there in his arms, he was her hero, she would love him forever. And just as quickly as the kiss had started, it was over – he slapped her right buttock hard and let go of her causing her to fall to the ground like a bag of charlotte potatoes. This made him laugh deeply again and in the roughest English she’d ever heard he said ‘My name is Alejandro Sanchez Lopez…’. And then he mounted his stallion and rode off into the afternoon in a cloud of dust… ‘Wait!’, she screamed, ‘you don’t even know my name!‘ but he was long gone. As she limped back to the minivan and picked the bits of hedge out of her long sweeping hair, she knew her life would never be the same…
She suddenly awoke from her heady argentine memory and flustered, she realised she was running hours late ‘Oh no, I have missed my training session!’. She grabbed the soggy report off the floor, put it in her tote bag and ran out the flat and walked towards the office. She was dreading her manager’s reaction when she saw the state of the report, she honestly didn’t know why she bothered sometimes – Charlie made her life hell every day. When she was younger she had always dreamed of becoming an ‘Executive Filing Assistant’ and when this job came up in Swindon’s Swanley Insurance building just off the A4235, it had been a dream come true – a way out from her boring job at the sex shop. But it had turned out to be far from a dream, on her first day on the job things looked promising, she had even been given the sole responsibility for alphabetising consumer policies sold between Jan-April 1989. But then Charlie started.
Charlie was the area manager’s daughter and a couple of years older than her, she was on a power trip and bullied Kaiane daily. She had a horsey, head-girl air about her and always spoke to her in a condescending tone and was like sooo annoying. ‘Where have you been?, it’s nearly lunchtime! - where’s my report?’ Charlie barked at her as she walked into the office, ‘sorry Charlie, I had another daydream’ she whimpered, ‘Dr Manliman has started me on some new medication for my paper allergy and I think they are side effects’ - Oh please, said Charlie, I have had enough of your excuses! And I have had enough of you! - get back to your filing’. But Kaiane didn’t move, she had had enough too, perhaps the memory of Alejandro’s assertiveness with the cattle prod inspired an angry passion in her… she took the report out of her bag and threw it on Charlie’s desk knocking over the bouquet of red roses her fiancée had given her for Valentine’s Day – Kaiane chuckled, looked her boss in the eyes and said ’Actually Charlie, I have had enough of you too – you can take this report and swivel, you are just jealous of my natural beauty – I QUIT!
Kaiane had fantasised about doing that for years, but had somehow never had the strength to do it and now that she’d told that smug cow where to go, she knew that it was all down to Alejandro’s passion... it was his love that had inspired her to let go and quit. She finally felt free from her oppressor and it felt great – she picked up her tote bag, spun round and marched out of the office. Euphoric and empowered from what she’d done she decided to head down to the High Street’s Wetherspoon’s pub to celebrate, she could do with a shot of the hard stuff and it was nearly lunchtime…
As she walked past ‘Pills at Noon’ the local pharmacy, she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. ‘No, it couldn’t be…could it?’ she gasped. She had heard a familiar deep laugh coming from the new Argentinean place on the High Street. She was drawn into the warm restaurant almost as if she was under a strange spell. The air was thick with the aroma of meaty juices and, there, just by the specials board was Alejandro Sanchez Lopez! She recognised him even wearing the oversized sombrero and comedy moustache – his body was too powerful for the comedy outfit, she would recognise his arms, and the cattle prod, anywhere. He had seen her walk in and within seconds he had thrown the cattle prod to the floor, and was bent on one knee infront of her. ‘Hello er, woman, I have been searching Swindon and the surrounding areas for you since the day I saved your life – I only went home to get my Spanish-english phrasebook, but when I returned, you were gone… marry me? Por favor?’ He smouldered, but just as he took out the Elizabeth Duke diamonique ring from his pocket, the smell of the rich, red meat had set off another one of her daydreams and she was suddenly transported back to that time she had that BBQ in New Malden with her mate Becca…
The adventures of Dr Manlimann ...
Get prepared to swoon, Dr Manlimann is in residence. The story so far ...
Constance Voluptua was the new Doctor at St. Valentine's Hospital but had Dr. Manlimann even noticed her...
Clappers:
'it wasn't until she was admitted to A&E in a drink fuelled coma - that Dr Manlimmann noticed her for the first time.... maybe it was the fact it was unusual to see an on-duty nurse admitted during her shift....or it could have been as he ...gently wiped the rioja tinged sickness from her full lips...he realised that she was just his kind of woman...feisty, not afraid to break the rules, and liked a drink...as Constance's stomach was pumped for the final heave, it was Dr Manlimman who she saw as she came round....her bosom heaved...although after eight years in the profession the Dr knew that this was a reaction to the stomach pump....he still felt a shudder of ...what was it? Lust? Protetiveness? Whatever it was - he KNEW he had to act....
He is such a brute that Dr Manliman...
....said David the gay charge nurse and all-round ward gossip, but, like everyone at St Valentines, his comment was charged with just a hint of jealousy where Dr Manliman was concerned....As Constance finally came round, and her glazed eye...s focussed on the scene before her, she realised she was AT LAST in the good doctors arms....it wasn't until he had wiped the final bit of vomit from her name badge, he realised her name - AND the fact that she wasn't just a nurse - but Constance Volupta! World renowned eminence in stiletto heel accidents! And a DOCTOR no less! 'How are you'? He gestured...'Better'? 'Ye-yes...' she whispered....and, catching herself - murmered 'well THAT was a waste of a good Pot Noodle wasn't it..' - it was all she could think of - at that precious moment. 'Ooh COMMON!' snapped Nurse David - not short of a quick comment as ever...
She:
'Help me Dr Manliman', breathed Constance, '... I've been posioned ... I only had the ONE glass of Rioja!'
Dr Manliman recoiled in horror, who could hurt such a delicate flower. 'Who was it? Who did this to you?' he growled.
'Jason ... It ...was Matron Jason!' wailed Dr Voluptua clinging to Dr Manliman's protective embrace.
'Quelle suprise', murmured Nurse David darkly ...
'DELICATE FLOWER!' snorted Matron Jason and Ward Nurse David together, she MAY be a Doctor - but the Volupta woman can drink four navvies and a sailor under ANY table....don't be fooled by those fluttering eyelashes and demeanour au tragiq...ue...'It - It's not true' quivered Constance, with one eye still on the Doctor...'they both FORCED me to drink' she croaked - pointing a shaking accusing finger at the evil Matron and his cackling side-kick - ' and on a school night too...PLIED me with it!' 'They're just JEALOUS'...they KNEW Id' get into trouble and make a fool of myself....'AND - they knew it would be on YOUR shift Doctor Manliman...you don't know them like I do..' 'Hush hush now' offered the Doctor in soothing tones 'am sure EVERYTHING will be fine'....'But NO! NO it WON'T!' Constance suddenly cried .....'for I fear I have lost Staff Nurse Belinda Bellchimes along the way''...'oh Doctor - such EVIL!' 'Where could she be? - a skip? A coal house perhaps?' Oh Doctor!' - and with that Constance crumpled into an unneccesary heap - sobbing into the doctors arms as the two homosexuals glanced each other a knowing glance...'...
Bel:
at that moment Nurse Belinda Bellchimes tragic dulcit tones rang out across A&E
'Don't listen to her...she's not...she's not...' as she slid gently onto the floor her wine drenched uniform leaking onto the retro linoleum
'Dr Volupta is not wh...o she claims to be...' she whispered 'She's your... your daughter...'
NO!
She:
'Noooooooo!' wailed Constance, 'it's no true! Don't listen to her, it's the Rioja talking!' as Staff Nurse Bellchimes coveniently passed out.
Bel:
Dr Manlimann immediately dashed to her side his gentle yet firm hand taking her pulse, his dark eyes flashed with inner torment... "stay with us Staff Nurse Bellchimes ... you have fourteen lavatory pans to empty and besides...I think I...love you" he gasped brushing away a tear
...it was at this very moment that Connie Volupta - even through her bleary eyed and weakened state KNEW she had to act - and act FAST...although Belinda Bellchimes was in fact correct - and she WAS no expert in Stiletto related injuries -... she'd had had enough near misses of her own involving high heels and a proponderence of drink - to be able to act with lightning speed....and with that - quick as a flash - she bough her own soiled bed pan right CRASH! Down on Nurse Bellchimes Judas head...knocking her out completely before any more could be said between her and the Doctor - 'What! What Did you you just DO!' cried the Doctor aghast - his manly and tantalisingly hirsute chest just glistening slightly with perspiration bought on by the shock of Connie's exertions...'But DOCTORRRR!' She cried again - sobbing into her regulation kidney bowl...'I thought it was ME you desired!' - 'You little FOOL!' he countered - 'you're BOTH fools!' - it's neither of you my heart bleeds for, 'I was referring to MATRON JASON!' ...
She:
'What?!' gasped Dr Con and Nurse David in unison as they stared at Matron Jason in shock and horror.
Now all became clear ... the longing glances over the unconscious patients ... the lingering touches when handing over the scalpel ... sta...nding rather too closely together when reading the medical charts.
'YOU CAD!' The scream reverberated off the linoleum and around the ward as everyone turned to stare at the shadow silhouetted in the doorway.
'Who the hell are you?' shrieked Matron Jason.
'I'm his WIFE!'
To be continued ...
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